One Glorious Night

You can wait your whole life,
your whole god damn life,
shitting yourself in anticipation
for a glorious night like this:

I'm five-foot nothing,
skinny-assed and fat-stomached,
my nose too long, my dick too short,
my eyes grey and twitching.

She's the best a used revolver
and a sandwich bag of opium can buy.
Duke said, "I usually ain't much for tradin',
but she's yours for the night, pardner."

So I took her to a movie
and we laughed and laughed
as spinal columns snapped
and skulls collapsed on the screen.

And we went out for steaks
and she smirked as the blood wormed
down my bearded chin.
The meat tore easily in my teeth.

And then after too much cheap wine
she unzipped my torn jeans
and I fucked her armpit until I screamed
and painted her shoulder.

Then we talked about love.
She said, "What about it?"
I said, "It's funny, ain't it?"
She said, "Fuck my armpit again."

So I did.
And I came blood and my eyes went white
and I thought Satan had crawled up my dickhole
and was killing angels in my sack.

I woke up and she was dead,
split from mouth to belly-button
like vicious hell-bound lightning
had torn her lovely body in half.

I returned her to Duke in a red suitcase.
He said, "You party hard, my friend."
I drummed my fingers on the suitcase
and wept silently on Duke's shoulder.

"There, there," he said.
The clouds blackened overhead,
a dead bird fell from the sky.
"There, there," he said.

by Barnabas DuCoudray